


Goblin Fruit

by truthinsidethelie



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Degradation, Feminization, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Orgasm Delay, Past Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patrick Hockstetter is His Own Warning, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Smoking, Sonia Kaspbrak Being Terrible, Spit As Lube, Unsafe Sex, homophobic undertones, mention of animal carcasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:33:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26383417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truthinsidethelie/pseuds/truthinsidethelie
Summary: Well, the only thing Eddie ever wants to see is Richie. He wants to see Richie’s truck come rolling down the street, wants to hear him lay on the horn as he speeds up in front of Eddie’s house with that big, excited grin on his face as he tells Eddie to hop in, and as they drive away, Richie will explain what took him so long, and he’ll hold Eddie’s hand and kiss his knuckles and promise to never leave his side again. And in these thoughts, Richie always keeps his promise.
Relationships: Patrick Hockstetter/Eddie Kaspbrak
Comments: 10
Kudos: 66





	Goblin Fruit

**Author's Note:**

> A goblin had his soul on the end of his fishing line, ready to reel it in. He knew. But now, in the fugue of _wanting..._ the knowing was as insubstantial as words written on water.
> 
> Title and note quotes are from the book Lips Touch: Three Times (with names and pronouns swapped). S/O to L for all your help with this.

Sometimes Eddie almost forgets how all of this started.

Everything fell apart so quickly that it doesn’t even seem real, _Richie_ doesn’t even seem real.

It’s been over a year since Richie left with a promise of _I’ll be back for you, Eds._ Eddie had believed him. Somewhere under his shattered heart he chooses to still believe that promise, even though he’s pretty sure that hurts worse than if he’d just let it go.

It’s not that easy, though. They were in love. Eddie still is in love with him. He thinks about their last night together more often than he thinks about anything else, really. He remembers the way Richie’s breath warmed his skin as he pressed inside Eddie for the first time, his hands securely fastened around Eddie’s hips as he whispered promises into his skin and against his lips. Eddie's always been good at pretending, and sometimes he can still feel the press of Richie’s fingertips on his skin, can still imagine the purple bruise Richie had left on his collarbone, telling him; _I’ll be back before it heals, won’t let anyone forget who you belong to._

But the bruise healed, and Richie hadn’t come back. 

At least he’d gotten used to it. Now, he doesn’t even look out his window when he hears a car passing by outside. Well, most of the time, he doesn’t. Hope is a hell of a drug.

Eddie had been so excited; so thrilled to finally get out of this shit town, out of his mother’s house, and to finallyget to freely be with Richie somewhere that they’d be accepted without question. Somewhere they could hold hands in public and kiss and just exist without people side-eyeing them and without his mother’s incessant pleas for Eddie to just _stay here, stay with me Eddie-bear, your mommy needs you, sweetie._

Sonia had been absolutely fucking elated when Richie never came back. And Eddie had no choice other than to put up with her, because he hadn’t had the foresight to get a job and start saving up, not knowing his plans would so abruptly change and his entire life would fall apart, and that he’d still be living with his heinous mother at nearly twenty years old.

It was only when he felt anger for the first time after months - the first six filled only with devastation and a numbness he was sure would never subside - that he forced himself out of bed. The sound of his mother’s honeyed voice crawled into his ears and had him grinding his teeth together, and he clung onto that tiny thread of emotion and went out in search of something, _anything_ to do that would get him out of that house for a few hours a day.

Cars have always been something Eddie absolutely adored, so getting a job at the most popular mechanic shop in Derry was basically the best thing that could happen to him, barring Richie’s return, of course.

The only downfall being, that shop belonged to Mr Hockstetter. Eddie hadn’t even bothered with his first name, choosing instead to call him that and keep things professional. The man didn’t seem to mind, more concerned with making sure Eddie was here to work and not fuck around, much like most of the younger people he had come through here looking for work.

Bowers and his gang had long ago left Derry, leaving one lonely member behind. That member ended up showing Eddie around the shop, and being one of his only coworkers. 

Upon realizing he’d be stuck spending what was supposed to be time away from home to relax with Patrick, he nearly bailed out. Mr Hockstetter would understand, surely. Or more likely, he wouldn’t give a shit. Eddie would just be another in the long line of guys that claimed to love cars and wanted to get their hands dirty, when in reality they were only here to leer at and con all the women who brought in their cars for routine oil changes.

But that’s not Eddie, not even close. He’s always adored cars, has always wanted to learn more about them. Reading about them is something he’s always been able to do, but his mother never let him near the underside of a hood. Eddie wonders if his dad had been around, if he’d have taught Eddie simple things like changing a tire or a headlight.

As it turns out, Patrick is really fucking good with cars. He clearly couldn’t give a fuck less about them, but he knows his way around. 

So Eddie sticks it out. He listens as Patrick drones on about the different fluids and tire sizes, and with a mocking glint in his eye - as if he knows Eddie will never dream of doing something so _scandalous_ \- tells Eddie, “If some fucker comes in here acting like he knows shit, just fuck with his seat and change all his radio stations. You’d be amazed how much it pisses them off.” And he stomps the smoky butt of his cigarette out under his boot before leaning back in, telling Eddie to hand him a wrench from the toolbox.

In Eddie’s opinion, that suggestion lacks Patrick’s usual enmity; Eddie would sooner think that Patrick would leave rodent carcasses under the seats of customers that were rude to him, or burn holes into the pristine leather interior or something else much worse than simply moving their shit around. Eddie thinks maybe he has to tone it down here, it is his dad’s shop after all. Or maybe it’s because just like with the way their friendship (acquaintanceship? relationship? Whatever the fuck this is) blooms, Patrick starts slow and sneaky, and it isn’t until you’re going 80 down the highway that you smell the death and decay surrounding you, and at that point it’s not like you can just _stop._

Without the rest of the gang, Patrick doesn’t seem quite so terrible. At least, not in the violent, threatening, is-he-or-is-he-not-going-to-light-me-on-fire type of way. He’s still creepy as all hell, and not a day goes by that Eddie doesn’t catch Patrick’s eyes on him as Eddie carefully slides out from underneath a car, his shirt ridden up past his belly button. Or when he stands up from leaning over the engine on his tip-toes because he just can’t quite reach, and Patrick’s eyes dart up to his face from what Eddie can only assume is his ass. And he always has that freaky little smirk on his lips, his gray eyes glimmering with danger. But he doesn’t ever do anything. Sometimes he even praises Eddie, telling him, “Not bad, Kaspbrak. Surprised you’re so willing to get those soft little hands all dirty.” And yeah, it makes his skin crawl. Makes him flush under his collar and turn on his heels to grab a towel to wipe the oil off his fingers in an attempt to distract himself.

Because sometimes, unbidden thoughts slither their way into Eddie’s mind, and they nest and expand like a gaseous poison in the warmth there.

He can’t help but notice the way Patrick towers over him, his long, lanky arms resting up above him against the open hood of the car they’re working on together with a cigarette dangling between his lips, eyes squinted to keep the smoke at bay. He bites on the filter when he talks to Eddie, and the ash will slip off the end and fall onto the concrete under their feet. His hair is just as greasy as the parts they’re working on, and he slicks it back with his big hands to keep it out of his face. Sometimes, he’ll lift the hem of his stained undershirt to wipe the sweat off of his face, and Eddie lets his eyes drift over the pale plane of his belly, lithe muscles contracting under his skin as he moves. 

If he traces it back, he’d guess it all started with Patrick’s hands. They just remind him so much of Richie’s. His long, bony fingers, at the end of which lay startlingly trim nails. His wide palms that shadow over Eddie’s anytime he hands him the tool he needs. 

That’s where it starts, and it all snowballs from there.

What is it that they say? You see what you want to see?

Well, the only thing Eddie ever wants to see is Richie. He wants to see Richie’s truck come rolling down the street, wants to hear him lay on the horn as he speeds up in front of Eddie’s house with that big, excited grin on his face as he tells Eddie to hop in, and as they drive away, Richie will explain what took him so long, and he’ll hold Eddie’s hand and kiss his knuckles and promise to never leave his side again. And in these thoughts, Richie always keeps his promise.

But Eddie doesn’t get any of that, because Richie is gone. So he lets himself see things that maybe aren’t entirely there. Eddie's always been good at pretending.

Patrick doesn’t really look like Richie all that much, at least not in the face. The features set in the oval of his face are too small and sinister, his hair too long and shiny; no curly bounce. But he’s tall like Richie, and he’s thin with long arms attached to those big hands he likes so much. His gait is more treacherous, his smile slimy and unsettling, but Eddie thinks if he closed his eyes and just went by touch, he might be able to trick himself into thinking it’s Richie bumping into his side to knock him out of the way rather than Patrick, and sometimes he lets himself do just that. 

It’s hard to recall when those thoughts became so intrusive that he found himself fucking lusting after Patrick, but they’ve been working together for half a year now, and those haunting eyes don’t even try to act like they aren’t drinking in every inch of Eddie’s body every day at work anymore. The touches linger, shivers tearing through Eddie whenever Patrick’s fingers curl around his hip to pull him out of the way rather than shoving him with his body like he used to. It’s all happened so fluidly that by the time he realizes where this is leading, it’s far too late to stop it.

They’re working late tonight, on Sonia’s car, of all things. Eddie wanted to tear his fucking hair out when his mother pulled up, that sickeningly saccharine smile on her face as she sauntered up to Eddie, moving his hair back into place as if she had any right to fucking touch him. He didn’t miss the huff of Patrick’s laugh at the motion, and one of her church friends picked her up to take her back home when Patrick told her this job wouldn’t be finished until the next day.

Eddie’s mouth waters as he gawks at the low hanging band of Patrick’s jeans, eyes darting between the tease of dark hair on his navel and the sharp jut of his hips. A memory flickers in his mind: the dimly lit sight of Richie’s hips rocking against his, and the images merge together behind his glossy eyes to convince him it could actually be Richie that is sliding out from under the station wagon, only to be reminded of who is really under there when those empty, metallic eyes meet his.

He silently curses himself when he doesn’t turn away in time to hide his blush as Patrick stands up to full height in front of him, his hand teasing along the waistband of his own jeans as if to tell Eddie he knows exactly what’s going on here.

“Still a mama’s boy, aren’t you?”

It’s probably the last thing Eddie expects Patrick to say, and it has anger quickly boiling up inside him to flush his cheeks further.

“What? No!”

“Figured Tozier would’ve fucked that out of you. Or did it come back? You know, after he abandoned you?”

Eddie wants to scoff or make some other annoyed, indignant sound. Instead, he gasps, and he faintly hears the flick of Patrick’s lighter and then a smoky haze is filling the air as he leans against Sonia’s vehicle, a strip of skin still peeking out between his jeans and the hem of his tank.

“He didn’t abandon me.”

Patrick raises a brow, his eyes lazily moving about the room as he huffs out a cloud of smoke.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll be back any time now. Don’t worry, Kaspbrak. He probably just got caught up sucking some other twinky dick down in New York or wherever the fuck he ended up.”

Eddie grinds his teeth like he did that day at home, the day he’d finally drug himself out of bed and wound up here; this place that was somehow a safe haven and a hell hole at the same time. That emotion is brewing again, and he wonders if maybe anger is the only emotion he’s able to feel anymore. That, and the horrifying swirl in the pit of his belly anytime he lets himself look too closely at Patrick.

“Shut up. You don’t know anything about him. Or me, for that matter.”

“Ah, sure I do.” Patrick pushes up off the car and crowds into Eddie’s space, the burn of smoke stinging his nostrils as he stares up at him, his mouth going dry under his calculating gaze. “I know he fucked you right before he left. Don’t you think that was his plan all along? Destroy your tight little pussy and then bail out before you had a chance to trap him?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide in shock, because he knows that’s not true. He _knows_ Richie loves - or at least, _loved_ \- him, and Richie would never hurt him that way. He’s also never been spoken to like this, because while it’s true; they’d had sex the night before Richie left, it was soft and sweet and wonderful, and Richie’s touch was rough sometimes but his words were kind, and there’s no fucking chance Richie would plan something like that. Eddie thinks maybe he’s using these thoughts to distract himself from the carnal sizzle shooting through his veins at the low tone of Patrick’s voice as he uses his height to curl over Eddie’s body.

“Shut the fuck up, Patrick. That’s not what happened.”

The cigarette is gone and then Patrick’s hands are on Eddie’s shoulders, and before he has a chance to register the movements, they’re flipped, and Eddie is the one leaning - or rather, being pressed - against the vehicle. Patrick’s hands slip down to rest against the hood on either side of Eddie’s waist, and his face curls into a lecherous smirk.

“I don’t blame him, you know. You’re so fucking desperate for it.”

Eddie scoffs, but his skin goes tight all over his body as Patrick leans in closer, and Eddie can’t stop the shudder that tears through him when Patrick’s breath hits his ear. 

“I see you staring, Kaspbrak. All you have to do is ask. Ask me nice and pretty, and I’ll fuck you so good you’ll forget all about Tozier.”

Patrick’s hand curls around Eddie’s hip then, and his lips brush over the shell of his ear and his mind is screaming at him to shove him away, because he doesn’t want this. He _can’t_ fucking want this. But his antipathy is quickly eclipsed with the press of Patrick’s arousal into his own from behind their straining zippers.

“Stop.”

Patrick chuckles, the fingers of both hands gripping him now, his thumbs daring to dip under his waistband and press against heated skin.

“You don’t really want me to stop.”

Eddie’s hands shoot up to grab onto Patrick’s shirt when his teeth graze against Eddie’s neck, and with his eyes closed, he can pretend this isn’t Patrick. He can pretend those are Richie’s fingers and Richie’s mouth. And when he lets those images into his mind, his hips buck forward without his permission, and that derisive chuckle falls from Patrick’s lips again.

“Come on, just _ask_ for it.”

Eddie shakes his head, but he doesn’t make any motion to shove Patrick away when he grinds against Eddie, his greasy hair pressing against the underside of Eddie’s chin as his teeth continue working over his throat and collarbones. He moves too quickly, dragging his chapped lips over Eddie’s skin, lighting up every nerve ending underneath. The smoke on his breath doesn’t smell the same as Richie’s did, but he doesn’t have much time to consider that before Patrick’s hand is slipping inside his jeans to cup him over his underwear.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps, hips bucking again, and with each passing second he gets closer to giving in. Closer to fucking asking for it just like Patrick wants.

“I knew you fucking wanted it.” Patrick squeezes Eddie’s cock, making him yelp and toss his head back, and he almost misses it when Patrick says, “Don’t even need you to ask, your body is begging me for it. Turn around.”

He turns around so quickly he surprises himself, breaths coming out ragged and following Patrick’s whispered order to put his hands flat on the hood of the car. The hood of his fucking _mother’s_ car. But that’s really the least of his concerns right now, considering Patrick is already roughly yanking Eddie’s pants and underwear down his legs to pool around his ankles.

Eyes closed again, he summons every memory and image of Richie he can possibly muster: his pretty blue eyes, so full of life; his big red lips as they curl into that mischievous grin; the way his long arms would wrap around Eddie from behind and press Eddie’s back to his chest, dropping kisses into his hair and down the side of his neck. It’s working, and his cock jumps when those happy images quickly twist into memories of being spread out underneath Richie the night before he left, and he whimpers again; the warmth of two large hands engulfing his ass cheeks and pulling them apart, and it’s _really_ fucking working, until Patrick opens his dirty fucking mouth.

“I’m gonna split your tight little cunt in half. Been so long since you got Tozier’s dick, bet you still feel like a virgin.”

The whine Eddie lets out at that makes him want to fucking punch himself, and he’s slowly starting to lose track of where the disgust starts and the lust ends, because it’s all swirling together into a sickening concoction in the pit of his belly and escaping him in little drops of precome that drip down onto the dirty hood of the car in front of him.

“Can you stop- just stop talking,” Eddie breathes, gasping at the end when Patrick slides one long finger between Eddie’s cheeks, barely grazing over his hole. The touch is gone then, and it takes everything in himself to not rock back for more. 

“Don’t wanna hear about all the things I’m gonna do to you?” The touch is back then, in the form of that same finger shoving its way inside his body, completely dry. Eddie cries out, his hips jerking back against it instantly, and he distantly hears Patrick laughing. “I’m gonna fucking ruin you.”

He keeps his eyes glued shut as the burn in his ass sears through him, shooting sparks all over his body. Only seconds pass before Patrick is pumping, pushing all the way back in on every thrust. Eddie’s hands are already slipping on the hood as he starts to sweat, and he’s on the verge of just letting go entirely when he feels another finger prodding at his entrance on the next inward thrust, the dry drag of it making him tense.

“W- wait, wait.” 

Patrick’s smirk is pressed against the side of his face, his other hand still clutching onto Eddie’s hip. He thinks maybe Patrick will ask what he wants, but he only feels his smile grow wider as his fingers pull away from his hole, and before Eddie has a chance to react, those same fingers are being shoved into his mouth, all the way to the back of his throat. 

His eyes shoot open then, and he’s met with the vacant, slaty eyes of the man who decidedly is _not_ Richie, but he can’t look away. Patrick just keeps smiling, moving his fingers over the length of Eddie’s tongue and pressing deep into his mouth, making Eddie cough around them as he tries not to think about where those fingers have been. Not even just now - in his ass - but all fucking day long, working on cars, smoking, and god knows what the fuck else Patrick does behind closed doors. It makes him want to wash his mouth out with bleach almost as badly as it makes him want to moan and suck on them until they’re dripping with his spit, and he already knows which of those two things is actually going to happen.

“Suck, slut. It’s all you’re getting.”

Eddie’s eyes flutter at his words, and he obliges, sealing his lips around Patrick’s fingers and working his tongue around and in between them. The bitter taste of salt and sweat and ash cuts on his tongue like fruit gone unexpectedly sour overnight, and more saliva collects under the muscle to wash it away. He moans desperately when Patrick’s other hand slides from Eddie’s hip to his cock, working over it roughly as he noses along Eddie’s hairline.

“You’re so fucking little; so fucking soft. Always knew you’d be a whore.” His thumb presses into the slit of Eddie’s cock and rubs, and Eddie just sucks on his fingers harder. Patrick sniffs loudly against Eddie’s scalp, a shaky breath falling from his mouth as he says, “You smell so fucking sweet.”

Eddie gasps when Patrick pulls his fingers from his mouth, quickly finding their way back between his cheeks and pushing inside him, both at once. Eddie tosses his head back against Patrick’s shoulder, keening as his hips rock back and forth between the sensations. He hears Patrick mumbling, but he tries his best to ignore it and let his memories do their job. It’s hard though, because part of him wants to see. Wants to see the way Patrick’s face looks when he thrusts inside of him for the first time. A loathsome sound leaves him at that realization, and he considers shoving Patrick away for a split second, only to forget just as quickly, mewling when the pads of Patrick’s fingers brush over his prostate.

“Oh, _god_.” 

He does it again, harder this time. “Right there? Is that where you want it, princess?”

Eddie gasps, nails squeaking against the hood as he desperately tries to clutch onto something. 

“D- don’t call me that.”

A third finger shoves its way inside, and Patrick roughly prods against Eddie’s prostate. He releases Eddie’s cock, instead using that hand to grab Eddie’s face harshly, lifting it so that he’s facing the ceiling. Eddie dares to crack his eyes open, and he moans at the sight of Patrick licking over his own lips as he drinks in the sight of Eddie falling apart under his touch.

“Aww, you don’t like that?” Patrick coos, fingers twisting and spreading inside Eddie brutally as he grinds against Eddie’s ass, his cock rock hard behind the confines of his jeans. “You want me to call you baby? Sweetheart? Beautiful?” Eddie’s hips jerk forward, away from Patrick’s fingers when he thrusts in particularly hard, but Patrick pushes forward until Eddie’s hips are pressed against the car and he has no choice other than to take what he’s being given, and another debauched moan tumbles from his lips when his cock rests up against the cool metal. “I’m not gonna fucking baby you like Tozier did. I’m gonna fucking call you what I want and fuck you like the slut that you are.” Eddie whines, and he can’t help lifting a hand to blindly clutch onto Patrick’s shirt over his shoulder, and he hears the other man laugh. “And you’re gonna beg for it like a good little bitch.”

Eddie shakes his head in protest, but the way he’s pressing back against Patrick’s fingers and spurts of precome shoot from his cock would beg to differ. 

“Fucking _say it._ ”

“Yes!” Eddie gasps, and honestly, he feels so much lighter already. It’s so much easier this way. To just fucking admit it. Does he want to get fucked? Yes. Does he want Patrick to be the one fucking him? He’s not his first choice, but he supposes the answer is yes-adjacent.

“Yes, what?”

He finds Patrick’s gaze again, that smirk never subsiding, and with another press to his prostate and a lick over his jawline, Eddie decides he may as well just give in. 

“Fuck me,” he whimpers when Patrick pulls his fingers out once more, hand finding the middle of Eddie’s back to shove him down over the hood of the car. Then Eddie hears Patrick’s zipper being torn open and what sounds like him spitting into his hand, and then a low, dangerous groan. And Eddie really can’t be blamed if he looks over his shoulder to watch as Patrick strokes over himself with his spit-slick palm, and _fuck._ His cock is big and red and Eddie thinks maybe it won’t be so hard to pretend it’s Richie after all, because he felt this same excited fear the first time he saw how big Richie’s cock was, too.

Patrick’s eyes drag up from where they’re staring at Eddie’s hole to meet his eyes, and when their gazes meet, he steps forward, the head of his cock resting against Eddie’s hole. Eddie’s eyes widen as he watches a long, thick string of spit fall from his mouth to where they’re nearly joined, and the feel of it makes him shiver and his cock twitch. Patrick rubs the head of his cock into his own spit, making a mess of Eddie’s hole. He rucks Eddie’s shirt up with his other hand, splaying it out over his soft skin before digging his nails in as if to hold Eddie in place, like he thinks at this point Eddie would still try to run away. Eddie can’t run away now, he’s too close. Too close to getting fucked after _so long_ , and maybe he is a whore after all. Because if he loved Richie, if he was a good guy; would he really be here about to let fucking Hockstetter shove his dick inside him?

“Say it again,” Patrick orders, the head of his cock catching on Eddie’s rim before pulling back, making Eddie’s whole body move to chase after it. Patrick is silent behind him while he waits, and that’s far more unsettling than his laughs or his words.

“F- fuck me,” Eddie gasps, ass perched over the edge of the car as Patrick holds him down, his other hand pulling Eddie’s ass open in preparation to take him.

“How do you want to get fucked, princess?”

Eddie shudders, his cock jumping against the hood of the car. He bites his lip, tries to stall. But he knows what Patrick wants to hear, and he knows that no matter how long he holds off, he’s going to give in. Patrick’s fingernails dig into the skin of his ass, and Eddie thinks he feels a hot drop of precome drip into his hole, and that’s the last push he needs.

“Fuck me like a whore.”

Patrick groans, and it gets louder as he shoves his way into Eddie’s body all at once, the burn of it making Eddie scream out into the dusty air around them. Patrick’s hand slides up from his back to his head, pressing his face down roughly. Luckily, the motion pushes Eddie’s arms out and his face collides with his forearms rather than the car under him, and then the hand on his ass moves to his hip, hiking him up further so that his toes barely reach the ground.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight, Christ,” Patrick’s fingers dig into Eddie’s hair, pulling roughly as his hips rock back and thrust forward again. Eddie clenches down around the thick intrusion, hands tightening into fists as he tries to maintain some semblance of control, tries not to immediately shove his ass back against Patrick and beg for more. 

It’s only seconds before Patrick is pulling out all the way and stuffing himself back inside, and Eddie goes limp under him, letting Patrick use him how he wants. Use him like the slut that he is. And Patrick doesn’t let him forget it, either.

“Fuck, such a fucking slut, yeah?” Patrick’s thumb finds its way to where they’re connected, and Eddie moans out desperately when it dips past his rim to pull him open further, and he feels another sticky glob of spit hit his hole and slip inside on the next thrust. “You fucking like it? You like my cock?”

Eddie mumbles into the skin of his arm where he bites down on it, frantically trying to keep the whorish sounds inside him. Because he does, he fucking _loves_ it. Patrick is so fucking deep and so thick and hot inside him that it has his head spinning, and he doesn’t even realize that he’s pushing back against him until he hears that fucking chuckle; the one that sends sparks straight to his cock and escapes him in the form of white pearls at his slit.

Patrick uses the grip he has in Eddie’s hair to pull his head back, so that he’s staring at the ceiling again. And Eddie really thought he’d be able to pretend it was Richie, to keep his eyes shut and just imagine the love of his life being the one pressing into him. But it’s impossible, because this doesn’t feel anything like Richie did. Richie was careful the first time, gentle and soothing. Eddie knew Richie wanted to go harder, rougher; he could see it in Richie’s darkened eyes. He kept control of himself though, made sure that Eddie was okay every step of the way.

So it’s really not possible to pretend that Patrick is Richie as he drives into Eddie’s hole like he fucking owns it, like there isn’t a sentient being attached to it. His moans and cries and broken pleas don’t stumble, though - if anything, they’re _more._ Like he can really just let go and show this depraved part of himself. What does it matter anyway? It’s not like Patrick gives a fuck. And Eddie thinks maybe he feels like he can do this because no matter how disgusting or fucked up his thoughts and wants become, he knows he’ll never be as bad as Hockstetter. He’ll use that as his justification, anyway, and try not to ask himself later if it really is worse to be the creature offering the forbidden fruit than it is to be the supposed innocent greedily accepting it.

When he finally answers Patrick's question, it’s with a slack mouth and a dripping cock and the feeling of Patrick’s pulsing cock head slamming directly into his prostate.

“Yeah, yes- yes, like it,” he gasps, and Patrick pulls his hair harder and thrusts deeper, and he curls himself over Eddie so that Eddie can see his eyes, though upside down in this position, and it’s then that he knows if Patrick tells him to beg, he’ll just fucking do it. 

“Better than your bitch boyfriend? He could never fuck you like this.” As if to punctuate the statement, both of Patrick’s hands move to Eddie’s shoulders and press him harshly down against the car, and his hips pick up a frightening speed as he drills into Eddie, his breaths coming out in heavy pants as he fucks into his small body, and Eddie takes it, crying out into the chipped green paint as Patrick pushes him closer and closer to the edge. “Too afraid to fucking break you. But that’s what you want,” Patrick groans, adjusting his angle a bit so that with every thrust he’s dragging over Eddie’s prostate, and Eddie feels his cock throbbing with his building release. “You want to get fucking broken.”

Eddie barely manages to speak, his shoulders heaving under the hold of Patrick’s big hands, his cock ready to burst.

“Yes, _yes!”_

“You gonna fucking come, princess?”

Eddie nods, hips rocking with what little leverage he has between the car and Patrick’s hips, and he really is about to come, but Patrick is too quick, and the long fingers of his right hand reach down to lock around the base of Eddie’s dick, staving off what is threatening to explode out.

A broken, desperate sound tears up from Eddie’s chest, and Patrick holds still inside Eddie’s body, the pulse of his dick rattling through him. 

“Not until you say it. Say how much you love this.”

The facade has long fallen away, and Eddie doesn’t really care to try to hold it up any longer.

“I love it - oh, _fuck_ ,” Patrick’s hips buck shallowly, but Eddie keeps going. “Feels good, want it so bad, _please.”_

Patrick huffs a laugh, fingers tightening around Eddie’s cock to the point of pain.

“Tell me who makes you feel like this, whose cock do you love? Whose slut are you?”

“Yours,” Eddie gasps, but it turns into a broken scream when Patrick holds tighter, his teeth on the shell of Eddie’s ear now as his cock rocks into Eddie’s prostate slowly. 

“Try again.”

“Patrick!” Eddie cries, and then the thrusts are back and his cock is being stroked roughly by Patrick’s dirty, calloused hand, and then it’s just so easy. So easy to keep saying it. “Patrick, oh god, _fuck, Patrick_.”

There are tears in his eyes as he comes all over the hood of his mother’s car, and he’s still shooting his mess when Patrick’s hands grip his hips and hold him in place as he dumps his own release inside of his small body; so deep that Eddie feels it in his belly.

Patrick breathes heavy onto the back of Eddie’s neck as his cock throbs inside him. He stays there for a few moments, humming to himself as if reveling in the feel of his load drenching Eddie’s insides before abruptly pulling out all at once. Eddie is still in a daze as he feels Patrick’s hands spread his cheeks apart, and he can only imagine that Patrick is watching the drop of come that Eddie feels slipping from his hole and traveling toward his sack.

It doesn’t get that far though, because then Patrick’s tongue is on him, catching the drop and licking all the way up until he gets to his hole. Eddie gasps, his whole face and chest flushing at the realization that Patrick’s tongue is sliding inside him, collecting some of the mess and shoving it back inside him. He whimpers in what he wishes he could call disgust, but the way he trembles and arches under the other man says otherwise.

He hears Patrick groan as his tongue works around his rim, and then fast as lightning, Patrick is pulling Eddie’s head back _again,_ and he’s certain he’s going to have a kink in his neck after this. As if that should be his biggest concern. 

Patrick’s fingers slip into Eddie’s mouth again, pulling his jaw open, his other hand in his hair holding him in place. Eddie watches with wide eyes as Patrick opens his own mouth, his tongue lolling out to allow the sticky white mess to slowly drip down from the tip of his tongue and into Eddie’s mouth. A sound gurgles in his throat as he feels it sliding further and further into his mouth, and the heat in his belly simmers again at the dangerous look in Patrick’s eyes; the curl of his lips around his open mouth. 

Eddie realizes a moment too late that he should at the very least fucking _try_ to spit Patrick’s come out of his mouth, because how fucking disgusting. But then Patrick’s mouth is sealing over Eddie’s, and his tongue is pushing the rest of the mess into his throat and coating his cheeks and the roof of his mouth. Eddie gags and tries to pull off, but Patrick holds him in place, and Eddie can tell by the look in his eyes what he has to do.

He swallows the best he can with their mouths latched together, and he shivers as the tip of Patrick’s tongue slowly drags over the roof of his mouth and licks behind his teeth before he pulls away. Eddie feels a hot string of come-laced spit drip over his bottom lip, and he wipes it on his knuckles as he watches Patrick stuff himself back into his pants, wiping his dirty hand on the thigh of his jeans before lighting up a cigarette.

His eyes stay on Eddie while he pulls his own pants back up his shaky legs, and he has no idea how to proceed once he’s dressed. 

“Clean up your mess. Mommy won’t wanna see that when she picks up this piece of shit tomorrow.”

Eddie flushes deeper, and he wastes no time grabbing a towel and wiping the evidence of his shame off of the car his mother drives him to church in.

Patrick’s eyes are still on him when he’s done. He risks turning to leave, but Patricks tsks softly, and Eddie stares up at him as he walks over to Eddie. His index finger catches Eddie’s chin - the same finger that had been inside Eddie not long ago - and he gives him that smirk once more, saying, “Until next time, princess.” And then he shoves Eddie’s face away from himself before turning to grab another cigarette off the shelf on the wall.

Eddie wishes he could say _fuck you_ or _as if_ or _you’re fucking disgusting and I never want to fucking see you again._

Instead, he keeps his mouth shut and leaves the garage, and tries to convince himself that he won’t ever let this happen again as he feels Patrick’s come leaking out from between his cheeks.

He sneaks silently into his house so as not to wake his mother, and showers for the better part of an hour to get clean. And those images in his mind of Richie start mixing with images of Patrick, and he feels an awful pang of lust shoot through him. 

He doesn’t look at himself in the mirror when he brushes his teeth, and he climbs fully under his covers when he gets into bed, as if that will block out the memory of what he’s done.

Twisting his eyes shut, he tries to force himself to sleep, praying to _whoever_ that he won’t dream about it. Won’t dream about Richie or Patrick or anything related to them. 

And just as he’s drifting into the groggy limbo between sleep and wake, blurry images splattering like paint behind his eyelids, he hears the faint sound of a car horn. His body trembles as his mind tries to catch up and decide whether it's real or just a figment of his imagination.

Eddie's always been good at pretending.

**Author's Note:**

> Eddie _knew,_ but he willfully _unknew_ it.


End file.
